


A Christmas Heist

by SummerDaze



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Bad Santa, Bank Robbery, Chicago (City), Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Eventual Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, F/M, Modern AU, Modern Westeros, Porn With Plot, SanSan Week, Santa Kink, all aboard the sansan ship, christmas 2018, sandor is santa, sansan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-02-18 19:16:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13106763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerDaze/pseuds/SummerDaze
Summary: *previously titles When Santa is Bad.Bronn summons Sandor to Chicago one month before Christmas to pull off a robbery that will screw over the Lannisters and make them both very rich. There only one catch, well two of you count the distracting redhead: Sandor has to play Santa.With Bronn too busy screwing Margaery, and Sandor drinking to forget about how shitty the holidays are, will they pull it off?*inspired by the movie Bad Santa*





	1. 1. Chicago

Had Sandor Clegane been a man of a more poetic disposition, he might have felt the warm fingers of festive cheer creep into his heart and warm his toes, but as it was, he wouldn’t know poetry if all 154 of Shakespeare’s Sonnets fell from the sky and landed on his head. And certainly no one would mistake the grim scowl plastered across his face for Christmas joy.

Snow was clumping around the soles of his boots and an icy dampness seeped in through the battered old leather, turning his toes numb and fuelling his growing irritation. Melodic tones of vaguely familiar carols filled the air, growing louder as the crowds of shoppers jostling down the sidewalk grew.

Ahead of him multi coloured Christmas lights strung across the square cast a bright glow, contrasting against the grey tones of the setting snow sky as shoppers gathered around the group of singers, steaming cups of coffee warming their fingers. It was just beyond that, where he was heading, past all the shoppers and children, past the warm glow of the lights and the mulled wine scent that just screamed Christmas. He couldn’t quite see it yet but he knew it was there: the dilapidated green and white sign that marked the dive bar as O’Hara’s. 

To his left cheering broke out and he looked across the street just in time to see a man on his knees in the snow, one arm outstretched and holding the hand of a woman in a red coat. Clasped in the other hand, a small box that could only be one thing. The woman cried and sunk to her knees too, plastering the man’s face in kisses. Sandor spat in disgust.

Fucking Bronn. Fuck him for calling in his favour in this goddamned overcrowded, icy hell hole of a city during the worst time of year. 

Sandor had been in Chicago for all of a day; he already thought it was one of the worst places he'd ever visited, and as a Marine he had visited a more than his share of war zones. The journey from Phoenix, paid for with the last of his few remaining dollars, had been a nightmare come true; hyperactive children high on the sugar packed candies the airline handed out; worn out parents, too tired to even use Santa as a threat to enforce good behaviour. The one time Sandor had overheard a particularly frazzled looking father tell his 7 year old son that Santa wouldn't be bringing all his presents unless he stopped kicking the seat in front of them, the smart ass kid had smugly replied that it was far too late because the presents had already been bought and put in the suitcase and of course Santa wouldn't waste them.

Sandor didn't know whether to be gobsmacked at the kids audacity to talk to his father that way, or admire his ballsy logic. He felt only irritation when the kid stood up on his plasticky seat to take a good look around the cabin, his eyes eventually resting on Sandor's scars with unapologetic curiosity. The kid's whiny voice rang out loud across the cabin as he shouted down to his father, 'Daaaaad, why is that man's face melted?'

Judging by how quickly the dad yanked the kid back down into his seat, he had finally reached the end of his tether. Soon after, the kids sobs floated over to the stub of Sandor's ear. The justice the father dealt the kid did nothing to soothe Sandor's irritation as he shrunk down in his seat, resolutely staring at the white-cloud abyss on the other side of his window to avoid the curious gazes of his fellow passengers.

 

As he continued along the sidewalk, the crowds now blissfully thinning out, a build up of snow on the branch of a tree overhead fell straight down the small gap between Sandor’s neck and coat, jolting him back to the present. He hissed a cuss word as the snow melted on contact with his warm skin, turning to cold water as it trickled down his back. Another hissed 'fuck!' Caused the nicely dressed woman passing by to give him a dirty look. Fuck her too, Sandor internally grumbled. 

The bar where he was meeting Bronn was just ahead, he could see the orange cast of the lights spilling out into the snow covered street. 

Sandor stamped his feet to remove the snow from his boots before entering. Immediately, he wished he hadn't bothered.

O’Hara’s was exactly the type of bar he pictured Bronn frequenting: dark and dingy with a strange brown-orange tint to the lightbulbs that hadn't been changed since before the smoking ban. The years of tobacco and smoke had seeped into the walls and sticky carpet, leaving a permanent ashy stench and stained discolouration. Sandor wouldn't be surprised if after hours the bar staff still smoked inside the building given how bad it smelt. 

As his eyes adjusted Sandor took in the stained brown pleather booths and beaten up oak bar, entirely at odds with the enigmatic smile of the pretty blonde on the serving side of it. To her left, with his eyes glued to her admittedly enticing assets, was his dishonourably discharged service mate.

Bronn seemed to have difficulty dragging his eyes away from the blonde, who had both elbows on the bar, resting her face in her palm in a pose that gifted a very fortunate view, but eventually his eyes found Sandor and his face broke into the same shit eating grin that Sandor remembered. 

"Time really doesn't make those scars any better, does it?" The harsh words were softened with the familiar sarcastic tone and a slap on the shoulder in greeting.

"You drag me across the country and that's the first thing you say to me, you scrawny bastard?" Sandor grumbled.

Bronn's blue eyes twinkled, and though neither man would admit it, it was comforting to see each other. Despite Sandor's slur at Bronn’s stature, he was far from scrawny with his love of the weight training evident in his muscular physique, but compared to the Adonis-esque figure of Sandor he looked like a scrawny 12 year old.

Bronn turned back to the blonde, a smile softening the corners of his brown eyes. "Margaery, I'd like to introduce you to my best friend, Sandor Clegane." With a flourish his arm waved in Sandor's general direction.

Margaery straightened and adjusted her shirt, offering a smile. "What can I get you, Sandor?" 

Sandor eyed Bronn’s whiskey, “Two more of those.”

And so the night continued, Sandor and Bronn exchanging friendly insults, drinking whiskey and staring lustfully at Margaery, who lapped up the attention. When closing time came neither man could walk straight and the exact details of Bronn’s favour hadn’t been spoken about. 

As Sandor lay with his feet hanging off the end of Bronn’s couch, the world spinning and Margaery’s enthusiastic cries coming from Bronn’s bedroom, it occurred to Sandor he still had no idea why he was here in Chicago. 

***

Sandor woke, groggy and aching, with both legs handing off the side of the couch that looked comically small with his huge body draped across it. Beams of bright winter sun shone in through the gaps in the badly drawn curtains, illuminating Bronn who was shuffling naked across the living room. 

“Fucks sake.” Sandor complained, getting an eye full of Bronn’s junk, standing proud and ready for action. Bronn shrugged and winked, making his way back to the bedroom where Margaery’s giggles quickly became louder, longer and in time to the rhythmic thudding of wood against floorboards.

Sandor groaned himself, raising to sit. His head thudded and his mouth was as dry as a septa’s cunt. He ran his hands through his hair and summoned the energy to get up and find the kitchen. Luckily Bronn’s apartment was compact and so when Sandor eventually raised his eyes to look around the room it was impossible to miss the kitchenette directly behind him. 

Bronn had a typical man’s kitchen; two mugs, two glasses, two plates, two sets of cutlery and an empty fridge. Rummaging through the numerous empty drawers didn’t result in Sandor finding and aspirin so he settled for gulping lukewarm tap water down out of a mug. It did little to make him feel any better but at least now it didn’t feel like he’d swallowed a bucket of sand. 

With his eyes closed to block out the painfully bright sun, Sandor leant against the kitchen counter and recalled the previous night. Begrudgingly he had to concede that it was the first time in a very long time that he had enjoyed the company of another person and even came dangerously close to having fun. 

The sound of heels clicking against wood forced him to open his eyes and it was only as he saw Margaery saunter past and wave her hand in what could be interpreted as either a greeting or goodbye before disappearing out of the door, that he became aware that the thudding has stopped and the sound of a shower running, accompanied by a muffled male voice singing obnoxiously loudly filled the otherwise quiet apartment. 

Sandor grunted. A shower would be good. Help shift the fuzziness in his head. He gulped down a second mug of water while waiting for Bronn to finish up.

 

Feeling only slightly fresher after his own quick shower - fuck Bronn for using all the hot water - Sandor followed the scent of coffee back to the kitchen counter. Taking a mug he slurped half of it noisily down, impervious to the burn down his throat, and clattered the mug down against the Formica worktop.

“Going to tell me why I’m here?”

Bronn stood across from Sandor, slouching back against the counter top with his arms carelessly cross across his lithe chest. His eyebrows raised at Sandor’s tone.

“Straight down to business, huh?”

The silence was broken with another of Sandor’s noisy slurps.

“I have a job -“

Sandor snorted; that much was obvious.

With a sigh and an eye roll Bronn continued “I have a job and I need your help. The profits will be split fifty fifty, should be at least three mil each.”

Sandor’s eyes bored holes into Bronn, analysing and forming a judgement. Bronn was Sandor’s oldest friend but he had a nasty habit of disappearing off when things got hairy and leaving others to deal with the consequences. But on the other hand, three million...he could move of out his shitty one room apartment and build his own place with that sort of money.

Sandor scrubbed a hand across his face. Whatever the ‘job’ was, for that kind of money it certainly wasn’t going to be anything legal. 

“It’s a sure thing? ‘At least three mil’ doesn’t sound like you’ve got all the details or even a solid plan.’

Bronn grinned, he knew Sandor wouldn’t say no now. Leaning over the counter with his head mere inches from Sandor’s he winked conspiratorially. “We’re going to be richer than you’ve ever imaged.”

Sandor sighed, resigned. “So who are we robbing?”

***

The next day Sandor awoke once again with a hangover to the increasingly familiar symphony of Margaery’s cries. His dick jumped when she came and he promised himself he would visit a strip club that later night. 

The morning unfolded almost identically to the previous day, with the blessed exception of coming face to dick with Bronn. Rather than heading back to O’Hara’s as they had done yesterday, Bronn led Sandor to the building they would be robbing. 

Casually they circle the outside of the building a few times, to anyone else looking like two friends enjoying a coffee and a mid morning stroll. They’ve both made an effort to dress as badly and nondescript as possible, but Sandor’s scars and height always single him out. Sandor takes mental notes of the doors and windows, vents and air ducts. 

“Do you know which room the safe is in?” It’s the first time Sandor has spoken since they left Bronn’s apartment.

Bronn’s mousy brown hair dances around his shoulders as he shakes his head. “That’s why we need to sign up, so we can spend the next four weeks there, learning their operation before we finalise the plan.”

Sandor gives Bronn a hard look. “You’re certain about the amount of money on site?”

“I know a guy that works there. He says they don’t bank it until December 27th, once the banks are open again after everything’s been collected.”

“Alright then.”

They both come to a stop outside the building’s main doors. In discreet lettering on a bronze plaque by the door read ‘Chicago’s Children’s Home - feeding the needy and helping the poor.’

Sandor grabbed Bronn’s arm, his strength preventing Bronn from entering the building.

“Hang on just a minute.” Sandor hissed our from between clenched teeth. “Chicago’s Children’s Home?”

Bronn’s face was smug, like he had a secret he wasn’t sharing. “You have a problem with that?”

“You’re damn fucking right I do.” Sandor looked around, making sure they were out of earshot of everyone mulling around. “These bastards aren’t going to have six million dollars.”

Bronn chuckled and clapped his arm on Sandor’s back. “You can keep your twisted morals, buddy. This isn’t a real charity, it’s a front for the Lannister’s to launder money. There’s not one cent that goes in this door that gets spent on hungry children.” That smug smile was back, plastered across his face and making his eyes twinkle. “But this year you and me are going to take it all from them.”


	2. Santa suits and lap dances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a note, I’m not American and I’ve never been to America. I’ve tried to do some research but if some things don’t quite make sense, that’s why and I apologise!

Sansa Stark was having one hell of a day. This time of year was always busy with everybody and their dog deciding last minute that they wanted to do good and give back at Christmas, and Sansa was honestly grateful for them - anyone could donate money, but to give up your own time to help others? That is a special gift - but she wished that they could just foresee their seasonal desire to do good and attend one of the pre booked induction courses that ran over the autumn months. 

She knew her unruly curly hair was escaping the many pins she had secured it with this morning, she was aware that she had a very obvious coffee stain on the left breast of her brand new cream silk pussybow blouse and she suspected the look on her face might be an overly bright smile covering for the pain caused by her beautiful suede high heels. Altogether, Sansa was fairly confident she looked more than a little bit frazzled right now and maybe even verged on crazy. But in her defence she could never have anticipated how crazy work would be today.

Spying an unoccupied chair in the corner of Chicago’s Children’s Home reception she mentally debated the pros and cons of sitting down for a few minutes and discreetly slipping her shoes off. The burning in the balls of her feet won and she sagged down into the chair, a satisfied exhale of breath escaping her lips as she toed each shoe off. Sure, it would hurt ten times worse once she had to stand up again in three minutes, but for now it was bliss.

From her corner vantage point Sansa had a great view of the reception: it was large and grand and old, more like a ball room than a reception. Built in the 1890s with solid marble flooring and walls that Cersei insisted be kept highly polished and glossy and high vaulted ceilings, it reminded Sansa of a museum. In truth, it was perhaps too grand for a children’s home entrance and secretly Sansa feared some children left before they had even really entered, intimidated by the grandiose of the place and the echo of voices bouncing off the walls.

Today not a patch of shiny marble floor could be seen, so packed with bodies was the area. Some faces she recognised; the creped skin and twinkling green eyes of Lothor Brune, who had been volunteering with the Home for nearly 30 years and tiny old Nan the post lady, pushing her cart into the ankles of anyone who didn’t get out of her way quick enough - which happened to be most people today.

As she surveyed, she noted the minor organisation in the chaos. Tyrion was in the corner opposite her, issuing uniforms to new recruits who then gathered by a tiny coffee station, waiting for her to start her induction session. At the reception desk Shae was trying to organise the newcomers, people walking in off the street or making a snap decision to help out, not realising the administrative paperwork and training that lie ahead of them. And mixed in with them all, standing out in their red and white Santa outfits, were her volunteers. People like Lothor who had already signed up and received their training. Watching them come and go, shaking their buckets in their cheery uniforms warmed Sansa’s heart. 

She was the Volunteer Coordinator for Chicagos Children’s Home and it was her second Christmas in the job. Last year had been a bit of a shambles but she was determined that this Christmas would be memorable for the children for all the right reasons. She was in charge of inducting and training volunteers, assigning them roles, supervising them and making them feel valued and part of the family. But the best part of her job, the part she spent all year looking forward to was the annual Christmas Eve gala, the shining jewel in the fundraising activity of the Home. In the summer she had e-mailed lighting companies, audio technicians and theatre directors from the Theatre District Downtown and she had received some responses! A smile tugged at her lips as she pictured the expressions of wonder the children would have on their faces while watching the spectacular winter wonderland themed show she would put on. 

“Sans! I have two more for you!”

The loud nasally voice pulled Sansa her daydream. Shoving her shoes back on and standing up in one motion, the barest hint of a grimace was visible on the corners of her bright smile. Ignoring the deranged air she knew she must be projecting, Sansa smiled brighter, throwing a quick “Thank you!” To the security guard to had delivered the two rather disheveled men to her. A frown marred her brow. These two did not look like the Home’s typical volunteers at all. 

Forever polite, Sansa introduced herself and made sure her eyes stayed no longer than usual on the man to her left, despite a morbid curiosity to study the mangle that was his face. He was the tallest man Sansa had ever seen, wearing a well loved leather jacket over a plain black t-shirt and faded blue denim jeans. Her eyes might have widened when she took in the size of his thighs, and she could feel a blush warm her cheeks. 

“And you are Mr...?” Her eyes were back on his now and the amusement in them let her know he had noticed her not so subtly checking out his body.

“Clegane.” 

“And you? Mr...?” For the first time she turned to the smaller of the two men, though she could hardly class him as small. His body was just as defined, but more compact. 

“Bronn.” He smiled as he took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Bronn Blackwater.” Unlike his companion, Bronn had a cheery face and a cheeky look in his eye. She could already tell he would make the Home a fortune in donations. He was definitely an elf. The cheekiness, the cheery smile and the more she looked at him the more she wondered...are his ears just a little pointed..?

“Great! Thank you so much for giving up your time to help us out. The Children’s Home survives on donations alone...” she reeled off her speech that she knew by rote now, distractedly glancing at the huge clock on the wall. “If you could both add your names and contact details to this sheet l’ll make sure you get your uniforms after the session.” She handed over her clip board with a dubious glance in Mr Clegane’s direction. “If we have any big enough.” She murmured with definite appreciation.

Sansa turned on her heel before another blush could betray her and led Mr Clegane and Mr Blackwater towards her induction session, relieved she could switch off for a few hours while she churned out her memorised induction spiel. 

 

***

“You didn’t tell me I’d have to dress up like Santa Claus.” Sandor complained. Sansa had assigned him as ‘Store Santa’ when she had escorted them to the uniform pick up line. When she’d turned to leave his eyes followed her arse as she stumbled off in those ridiculous shoes she could barely walk in. 

“It’s better than being a fucking elf, big man.” 

Sandor grunted. He could very well picture Bronn as an elf with his pointy jaw and the way he would tilt his head to the side and hold his arms behind his back. “Suits you.” Was all he said.

They had been waiting in the line for ten minutes now and Sandor was desperate to get his uniform and make his way to O’Hara’s. After his morning semi and then staring at the red head with the see through blouse for two hours he was tense and in need of some relief. He didn’t know any strip clubs in this city, but he was sure he could sniff one out. He always ended up in the seediest of places. 

Finally at the front of the queue, Sandor cursed. No wonder it was taking so long, there was no one here serving.

A polite throat clearing caught his attention. The sound was right in front of him, but there was nobody there. His eyes narrowed.

“Down here.” 

Lowering his gaze almost all the way to the floor, Sandor’s nostrils flared and a roar of fury ripped from his throat as his eyes settled on Tyrion Lannister. 

“How pleasant to see you again, Clegane.”

Sandor pushed people, physically moving them, to make his exit from the building quicker. Once on the icy pavement outside he started pacing furiously, up and down, up and down, until Bronn burst through the door. 

Eyeballing the clenched fists, hunched back and the pure, unadulterated hate radiating in waves from Sandor’s body, Bronn approached carefully. 

“You knew he would be there.” 

Not denying the accusation, Bronn came closer, an overly casual expression holding his features. “I thought it was Cersei you hated.” 

“I do. And the only person I hate more than her is Tyrion fucking Lannister.”

“While I do love to hear how you’ve missed me Clegane, may I suggest we take this reunion somewhere a little more private?”

The clipped, pretentious voice could only belong to Tyrion. Sandor looked at him with a hate he didn’t know he still possessed. Dressed in red and white stripes like a fucking candy cane with a Santa hat engulfing most of his oversized head, his ridiculous costume was entirely at odds with the serious expression on his face. 

“You can’t be serious? The last time I saw you, you tried to have me murdered. Or had you forgotten that, you little prick?”

“A misunderstanding, I’m sure. Now if we can just move past that little incident we can all be very beneficial to each other.”

The sound of the fools distinctive, clipped accent, his fucking dismissive tone and overly flowery words combined to make Sandor see red. Fists clenched and back hunched he slowly turned to Tyrion, a dangerous silence surrounding the three of them as Sandor slowly, deliberately stepped closer to Tyrion.

Bronn was quick to jump in, placing his arm on Sandor’s shoulder and blocking his line of sight to Tyrion. “Alight buddy, seems I made a bad call. Why don’t you and me go to O’Hara’s and get a few drinks in us?”

After a long, tense minute, Sandor gave a nod, unclenching his fists. He turned away from both Bronn and Tyrion, missing the long look and single nod Bronn shared with the shorter man. 

***

The lights were low, only the stage lit up to illuminate the outline of the naked female figure on the stage. 

The good half of Sandor’s face was pleasantly numb and the hedonistic part of his brain was excited by the oversized bare breasts all around him. Slumped back on the booth bench with Bronn to his left, Sandor’s legs spread as he watched the blonde up on the stage gyrate before sliding to the floor and rolling around with her topless friends, Sandor reaches a numb hand out to take a sip of his beer. 

To his right he heard a rustling and turned, hopeful it would be another topless waitress - a redhead, he hoped. He was in the mood for a redhead with too high shoes - it took his beer-addled brain a few seconds to process Tyrion Lannister climbing up onto the bench to next to him.

“Do yourself a favour and just hear me out before you leave. When I’m finished I’ll buy you a dance and then you can decide whether or not you want to leave.”

“You set me up.” Sandor turned to Bronn who didn’t look the least bit perturbed that Tyrion had tracked them down. He was far too busy tucking a one dollar bill into the g-string of a passing waitress.

“Listen to the man.” Was all he said, with a slap to the girl’s arse.

“Go on then, Imp.”

“98 cents of every dollar goes straight to Cersei’s offshore account. You saw all those little collection buckets the Santa’s were carrying around? They’re the donations. Every night they’re filled to the brim and collected and stored in the safe. Day after day they build up and on Christmas Eve there’s a big charity concert before it’s all banked. That’s our target. All the kids and staff will be busy with the show. We’ll go in there and take all the money. There’s four weeks until then. We all act normal, keep our heads down and let the money build up.”

“Why are you so keen to rob your own family?”

Tyrion looked away, his eyes drawn to the stage. “It’s complicated.” He sighed.

“You better fucking explain complicated if you want me to help you rob your own family.”

“Cersei. She’s always been vain and a bit power mad, but she’s lost it. What she’s doing - taking money that people give to help the children have a better life - and spending it on yachts and surgery and cars. I can’t allow it to continue. But I can’t stop her. The only thing I can do is take the money so she can’t waste it.”

“And there’s really six million there by Christmas Eve?”

Tyrion chuckled. “Much more than that. Last year we collected six million. Already this year we’re at eight.” He turned and winked at Sandor, a gesture that was far more creepy than he intended for it to be “Chicago is coming out of the recession, my old friend.” 

True to his word, Tyrion had paid for Sandor to have a private dance. The thrill of having a firm, naked blonde wriggling in his lap wasn’t as satisfying as he had expected to be, and after vomiting in the alley behind the grimy strip club, Sandor had stumbled all the way back to Bronn’s apartment, where he crashed on the sofa, immediately falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, we see if Sandor turns up to “work” and how he gets on with his supervisor Sansa ;-)


	3. 3. Facebook

It was with a dramatic sigh and a long suffering look that Sandor Clegane stepped into Chicagos Children’s Home reception area, for the second day in a row. 

It was quieter today than it had been yesterday, but still voices and laughter echoed around the room, mingling with the cheerful piped Christmas songs. He had the misfortune of having his ears - or what was left of them - invaded by Slade right now. With slow, heavy steps Sandor manoeuvred around the bustling crowd and found his way to Tyrion’s uniform stand. 

It irritated Sandor that Tyrion, despite still drinking at the strip club for many hours after Sandor had fallen asleep, looked decidedly more fresh and well rested than Sandor felt. 

“Clegane.” His distinctive voice rang out across the hall, accompanied by what Sandor could only interpret as a smile plastered on his face. “I knew you’d be back,” he leaned across the table towards Sandor, lowering his voice as he continued. “You never could resist the coin.” Sandor grimaced as Tyrion chuckled at his own joke. 

“Now let me see here...I’m not entirely sure we will have anything big enough for you, Clegane.”

Tyrion left Sandor in relative peace while he went searching for a Santa suit. A sweet, feminine scent invaded his nostrils - lemons and vanilla and...sunshine? - a second before a smile as bright as the sun itself entered his field of vision. Her hair was down today. Loose, red curls tumbling down past her shoulders distracted him far more than he would have liked to admit. The colour almost changed with each step she took as she passed from sunlight into shadow. Fascinating.

“Mr Clegane!” No one had ever greeted him so enthusiastically, not even his own mother. “How wonderful to see you again.” 

She was clutching her clipboard to her chest again, same as yesterday, but at least she appeared to be able to walk in her shoes today. 

Sandor nodded in acknowledgement, and moved his mouth in what he hoped passed for a smile. 

“All ready for your first day in the store?” She looked up at him expectantly, and he realised he wasn’t going to be able to get away without making small talk.

“The Imp - Tyrion.” He corrected himself “Doesn’t have a costume big enough.”

Her eyes widened and he smirked as she swept her eyes over his body once again. “No, you are extraordinarily large.” She agreed, her words soft, eyes on his bicep. A small shake of her head caused her red curls to shimmer and change colour once more. When his eyes finally moved back to her face, hers were once again on his, and her cheeks a light pink. “But we should have something to fit. If not, I’m a dab hand with alterations.” She smiled brightly. “Tell Tyrion to call me over if you can’t find anything.” 

A delicate hand was placed on his bicep and he would swear he felt a gentle squeeze, accompanied by another pink tinge to her cheeks, but she left before Sandor could be sure. As she strode off Sandor was once again treated to a very enticing view of her rear. Tyrion’s irritating voice cut short any hopes Sandor held of being measured up for a custom Santa suit by the pretty redhead. In his head the cheesy 70s sound track was already all but playing.

“Here,” Tyrion’s voice was muffled as he unsuccessfully fought his way out from underneath the swathes of red velvet. Eventually battling the plush fabric on to the counter top in front of him, Tyrion flashed his teeth to Sandor. “Santa Clegane.” Tyrion chuckled at his own joke, a noise that had a similar affect on Sandor as nails on blackboards has to others. Sandor’s jaw was clenched so hard he was surprised his teeth didn’t crumble and turn to dust. 

Without thanks, Sandor plucked up the costume and slung it over his shoulder, keen to be away from the miniature Lannister as soon as he could. 

Sandor walked back to the car he had come from, idling two streets away with Bronn behind the steering wheel. Sandor smirked as he lowered himself into the passenger seat. “You look more like a leprechaun than an elf.”

“Just wait until you get that red suit on, Sandor Claus.”

***

“I’d say it’s an improvement. Can’t see those scars at all.” 

Sandor rolled his eyes, the only part of his face visible from beneath the bushy grey clip on beard. Bronn wasn’t wrong; the moustache and beard covered his entire face, and coupled with the Santa hat tucked over his ears Sandor could be as handsome as the Imp’s brother Jaime underneath it all. Not one little scar escaped the disguise. The pants were a little short, the fur trim swinging just above his ankles, and he certainly wouldn’t be mistaken for a jolly fat Santa with how the tunic hugged his body. Even the oversized sack of presents slung over his shoulder looked dwarfed compared to the size of him.

Eyeing Bronn in his stripped tights and curly toed, belled slippers Sandor thought he had definitely ended up with the better end of the deal. 

“Better get started.” Was all Sandor said, walking towards the store’s entrance. 

The manager was expecting them, waiting at the door ready to greet them, but still done a double take when they walked in, muttering something about moonlighting as Dream Boys. They walked past the lines on children, already queuing up for their Santa visit, and into Santa’s grotto, a poorly constructed room made from office dividers covered in white felt and staples on cotton wool. At least the only light came from twinkling fairly lights, leaving the shoddy work half hidden. 

Sandor settled himself into the hard wooden chair, dumping the sack down by his feet. The store manager was going over the rules and timings but Sandor wasn’t listening. 

Finally the manager went to officially open the grotto and send in the first kid. Sandor took the opportunity to have a sip of whisky from the hip flask buried in his pocket. Bronn frowned and Sandor roared with laughter, the sip turning into a glug, until the flask was empty. 

Sandor was still putting the flask back in his pocket when the first child walked in, gasping as he saw Santa up close for the first time. Sandor scowled, his conditioned response to having someone gawp at his face. 

“Hi there little buddy,” Bronn went to the child, a boy, maybe 4 or 5, and took his hand, leading him away from his mum and over to Sandor. “Is this your first time meeting Santa?” 

The boy nodded, shy and in awe. Bronn lifted him up onto Sandor’s knee and looked expectantly at Sandor. 

“Ho. Ho.” Sandor’s voice was flat and awkward. An adult might pick up on the sarcasm that laced the words. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Rickon.”

“And what do you want for Christmas, Rickon?”

The little boy’s fingers curled around the soft fur on Sandor’s sleeve. “I want a puppy more than anything else in the world.” Rickon whispered. Sandor glanced up at the boy’s mum, gauging her reaction. She smiled softly. “Have you been a good boy for your mum and dad this year?” 

Sandor watched the kids face as he thought about the question. After a few moments he looked up to Sandor and told him that mostly he had been a very good boy, apart from when he had given his sister a haircut. Sandor laughed and the boy beamed back at him.

“As you’ve been good most of the year, I’ll see what I can do. Now, my elf has a present for you to see you through until Christmas.” 

“Before we leave, Can I take a quick photo? It’s his first visit to see Santa?”

The mum already had her phone out. Sandor’s instinct was to turn away from the camera and hide his scars, but instead Bronn’s cheerful voice agree. 

The mum crouched down, getting a good angle while Bronn positioned himself to Sandor’s left, smiling and tilting his head like a real elf would. 

Once the ordeal was over Sandor lifted his knee and the boy slid off, following Bronn back to his mum. 

 

After another 45 kids Sandor was in need of another flask. With the exception of the first kid, all the children that had seen him so far were bratty and demanding. Not quite as bad as Joffrey, but some weren’t far off. He’d had demands for Xbox’s and PlayStations, ponies, iPads and even a life size Cinderella carriage. 

Bronn plonked another overweight kid down on his lap and Sandor groaned at the weight. 

“Ho, Ho, Ho. What Can I get you?” Sandor drawled monotonously. This one had to be at least 10.

“I want a pink bike.”

“Oh really? I’ve not heard that one before.” Sarcasm dripped from his tongue and Bronn gave him a sharp look.

The girl looked up at Sandor confused. He sighed. “Have you been a good girl this year?”

The girl scowled and pouted. “No. But my daddy will buy me the bike anyway, won’t you daddy?” 

Sandor jiggled his thigh, encouraging the girl to get down and leave, but she stayed where she was, peering up at him. “You aren’t the real Santa!” She accused. 

Sandor looked over to the girl’s dad, who was glued to his phone and not paying any attention to them whatsoever.

“Oh no?” Sandor mocked. 

“No.” The girl has a smug, self satisfied smile on her face, similar to Tyrion’s. “The real Santa can do magic. I bet you can’t do any magic.”

Sandor laughed. “Want a bet? Watch me make you disappear.” He tilted his leg so that she fell off completely, hitting the floor with a satisfying thud. 

Bronn was there to pick her up and hand her back to her father, who was still attached to his phone. As they walked off the girl turned back to glare at Sandor and he stuck his middle finger up at her in return, eliciting a gasp from the girl as she stomped off. 

“This is not worth 5 million.” Sandor grunted during a five minute reprieve from children.

“It’s not hard, all you have to do is sit there and ask three question.” 

Sandor grunted and stretched out his long legs. “They’re all brats. When did kids become so fucking spoilt?” 

“They always have been, you’re just getting old, my friend.” Bronn winked.

***

And so the nightmare continued. Day after day Sandor endured rude, spoilt children and photos. Each day it got busier and both Bronn and Sandor noticed the increase in single mums bringing their children to visit Santa. Some were even brazen enough to ask to sit on Sandor’s lap too. Sometimes he didn’t even mind it. More than once he had to stop his hand from reaching around to squeeze a firm rear end planted on his thigh.

One group - four kids and three mums - hung around as the children were leaving, asking for a photo with Bronn and Sandor themselves. In the end they had taken a few photos; one taken by Bronn with all three women on Sandor’s lap and one selfie with all of them in, where at the last second one of the women had lifted up Sandor’s Santa tunic to reveal his sculpted stomach. Sandor had called a ten minute break after that, that he had spent in the toilets. He felt half stupid, turning into a horny 13 year old at the first sign of a female showing interest in him. It was only because his face was hidden. He imaged this was what everyday life was like for men with unburnt faces. 

When he’d arrived back in the grotto he nearly groaned out loud when he saw Sansa waiting and chatting with Bronn. He’d just gotten rid of one hard-on, he didn’t need another one. 

He sat down in his hair and imagined her coming to sit on his knee. Too bad she was in her business casuals again, rather than a little elf costume. But as he eyed her, he realised the curve hugging leather skirt she had on had an entirely different kind of appeal. 

“Mr Claus.” Sansa greeted with the same level of enthusiasm as she has during their previous encounter. Her smile was just as bright too, even in the relative dark he could make out her pearly white teeth. 

“Ho, Ho.” He responded, with the same level of sarcasm as he used with the children. 

Her smile dimmed for only a second as she tried to interpret his tone, whether he was being rude. “I was just telling Bronn before you joined us, that I’m just here to check in, see how you’re doing. You two have caused quite the stir though. The store says they’ve never had a busier Grotto.”

Bronn was smirking, “Show him what you just showed me.”

Sansa got out her phone. “You two really didn’t know?” 

Sandor’s clueless look have her all the answer she needed. Walking over to Sandor she tapped away at the screen, pulling up a Facebook page and presenting it to Sandor. “You two have gone viral!” 

She held the phone out to Sandor so he could see, scrolling through it for him. Sansa looked around awkwardly for somewhere to position herself, but coming up empty she decided to just perch herself off Sandor’s knee.

Bronn’s eyes raised and Sandor’s body stiffened. He could smell that lemony sunshine scent again and clamped his lips together hard to stop from asking her if she had been a good girl or a bad girl this year. He drew a sharp breath instead and looked down at the phone cradled between her hands. 

“Chicago’s Sexiest Santa’s?” He read aloud, looking up at Bronn, who just shrugged. It was a Facebook group, full of photos of him and Bronn in their outfits. Some photos had images of women in them too, some were cropped to cut out kids.

“Well that’s...creepy.” He looked up at Bronn. Concern was starting to cloud his mind. They were going to rob this charity, was it a very bad idea to have their faces plaster all over social media, connecting them to the company?

Sansa squeaked, causing him to looked back down at the phone. “What is it?”

Her cheeks were that enticing shade of pink again as she struggled with her words. “Oh it’s...it’s nothing! Just a new picture has been uploaded.” She held it out for him to see: it was the last photo they had taken. The selfie with the woman lifting his top up. Except it had been cropped and zoomed, his torso hairy and defined, the v of his hips prominent, leading down to highlight the shape of his cock, not fully hard but the outline was there against the thin velvet fabric of his pants. 

“That’s...this...I mean...” Sansa was struggling with her words. He couldn’t see her face from this angle but he wondered how pink her cheeks were. “If this were a woman, it would be sexual harassment.” She finally declared, her voice a pitch too high. 

The light in the screen dimmed and Sansa jumped up from Sandor’s lap, addressing both Bronn and Sandor. “Anyway, I came here to tell you, as we spoke about on induction, usually our volunteers rotate roles every two weeks. You’ve been here a week now, so it’s time to think about rotating, but the store is very keen to keep you. You’re bringing in lots of extra customers. I’d come today to talk to you about staying in here...But in light of this...maybe you do want to switch?”

“Fuck yes.” Sandor’s reply was instant.

“You...do?” 

“Yes. Right Bronn?”

The elf in the corner have a shrug. “It will be colder shaking buckets outside.” Was his only contribution.

“Cold, but child free.”

Sansa laughed, thinking he was joking. 

“Alright then, Monday morning swing by the Children’s Home and I’ll give you your new assignments.”

***

The weekend passed in a drunken haze. Margaery’s smile. Whisky. A red headed lap dancer who had done much more than just dance. Vodka, once all the whisky was gone. Listening to Bronn and Margaery fuck. Stroke himself. It was becoming his new routine. 

Monday morning saw him throw more coffee down his throat than any person had the right to drink. He showered, shaved. Tried to make an effort before he realised he’d spend the entire day in what was really a mask, so what did it matter how his face looked underneath it.

The drive was too short. After the filthy things he had done over the weekend he didn’t feel clean enough to be around the Children’s Home. Or Sansa, for that matter. Bronn parked the car, but neither moved to make an exit, instead sitting in silence for a few more minutes.

“Need to cut back drinking.” Sandor broke the silence. 

Bronn laughed. “That’ll be the day the world ends.”

Sandor glared, getting out of the car and slamming the door too hard. Bronn followed behind him. 

Sansa was the first thing Sandor noticed when he entered the reception. She was leaning in the reception desk, chatting with a mocha skinned brunette. Sansa’s red hair shone as it tumbled down last her shoulders and her laugh tinkled around the large room. It stopped him in his tracks and he spent a few minutes just watching her. She was pure and innocent it was no wonder he felt so pathetically filthy around her. 

Bronn made a noise beside him. “That’s what the redhead thing is all about.”

Sandor grunted. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“The stripper.” Bronn reminded him, as if he had forgotten. 

Sandor hissed and again strode off away from Bronn.


	4. 4. Jail

By some kind of miracle Sandor finally had a few hours free of Bronn. It was Monday morning and he was freezing his balls off, standing ankle deep in the slow covered sidewalks of downtown Chicago. It was 11.50am and the streets were starting to become busier, picking up from the mid morning lull after the chaos that was the rush hour commute. 

The idea of sloping off and finding a bar to warm up in had slipped into Sandor’s head around 10.20 - only twenty minutes after he had arrived. Ever since then it had sat at the back of his mind, teasing him with the image of a deep red wine, strong and warm enough to numb him from the cold and the feelings that were starting to creep up on him. Every time he had to stamp his feet in order to feel his toes he felt the slight burn in his throat as he pictured the red liquid slipping down his throat and starting it’s pleasant numbing effect. His own flask, hidden in his red velvet pocket was almost empty now. It hadn’t escaped his notice that for perhaps the first time in his adult life he wasn’t drinking to dull the lonely ache of a shitty life, he was drinking to stay warm. If he was asked, he wouldn’t be able to give an answer as to why he hadn’t stripped himself of the suit and sniffed out the nearest dive bar. He just hadn’t. 

Sandor looked around the square he was positioned in; it was a well to do area, probably not many dive bars around, mostly those boutique cereal shops and artisanal coffee bars at twenty bucks a cup. Opposite him was such a coffee shop, but the barista had taken pity on him, and bought him out two cups of coffee free of charge throughout the morning, asking only for a selfie in return. He was amazed at what you could get away with while wearing a Santa suit. 

The shops around the square appeared to be gearing up for the lunch time rush, although with the gloomy white cloud filled snow sky blocking the sun, and the twinkling lights that seemed to be strung from every tree lining the square, it could easily pass for almost 5pm. The nativity scene behind him was starting to get a lot of attention now that the local schools were approaching their lunch break, so he took the opportunity to go and pet the old white horse offering cart rides around the square, rather than get overwhelmed with small children wanting to yell their Christmas wish lists at him. He’d had enough of kids for the year. 

***

By 4pm Sandor was grumpy, tired and almost frozen solid. He was getting sick and tired of shaking his collection bucket only to be ignored by arrogant business men on their phones, too busy to even look up.

“Think about someone else this Christmas - donate some money!” His voice was low, but it carried and caused one slick suited man to pause and drop a fist full of dollars into Sandor’s bucket. 

“Okay, feed the kids!”

His barely veiled sarcasm was starting to work, with his bucket becoming more and more full until just before 5, when it was so pack full of money, not another dollar couldn’t be stuffed inside it.

Returning back to the children’s home with his days spoils gave Sandor a weird feeling in his chest, something perilously close to pride, perhaps. But then again, it was so many years since he’d last felt pride he wasn’t sure he’d remember the feeling accurately. 

***

It was a perfect, seasonal day. Snow had fallen over night, leaving the square with a fresh, clean coating of white that crunched satisfyingly under foot and the skies were a clear, bright winter blue with not a grey cloud in sight. Christmas carols were floating out of shop doors, mixing with the echoing horse hooves from the carriage rides around the square. Shoppers were loading up on coffee and stopping every so often to stamp their feet and rub their hands together, rueing their decision to leave the house without gloves. 

“Ho Ho Ho! Feed the kids!” Sandor’s gravelly voice cut through any Christmas cheer.

A hipster looking teenager wearing black skinny jeans that were far too tight, and huge boots that made his feet look comically large, dropped a hand full of change into the bucket. The coins clanked as they found their way to the metal base of the bucket.

“Fucking dimes? Are you kidding me! You cheap fuck!” Sandor called after the hipster. 

Over the past few days he’d spent in this cold little square, just in front of the nativity scene, he’d found a method that seemed to really bring in the money: insult people. Sure that hipster teen might not have had much money, but the suit clad businessmen who rushed past at lunch times responded well when Sandor insulted their financial position or their desire to help others. Each day when he’d taken his full bucked back to the children’s home, he’d been greeted by Sansa, wide eyed and beaming in pleasure as he proudly presented his day’s efforts. 

“Ho, Ho, Ho! Merry Christmas, folks. Give what you!”

The cheerful voice had Sandor whipping his head around to find another Santa impersonator, just 25 yards from where he was standing. Sandor eyed the man critically. 

“Hey!” Sandor yelled across. “Can’t you see I’m already here?”

“Ho, Ho, Ho. The people are very generous, there’s plenty to go around.” The other Santa answered.

Sandor scowled. “Look, buddy, this is my spot. I’ve been here all week. You can’t just come along and take over. Hey, what’s that you’ve got there?”

Sandor stomped over to the guy, his body as intimidating as it could be, to inspect the little black machine the man was handing around to passers by. 

“It’s a card machine. Let’s me take credit card payments.”

Sandor frowned. That didn’t sound right. During his training with Sansa, one of the other volunteers had asked about credit card payments, and she’d said something about it being a legal grey area.

“What charity are you from?” Sandor demanded, suspicious of the man. 

“Back off dude, I’m just trying to do my bit, just like you.”

He turned away from Sandor and started singing some Christmas song Sandor recognised, gathering himself quite a crowd and handing the card payment device around, a little beep sounding every time a transaction was approved. 

“I said, what charity are you from?” Sandor cut in, barging through the crowd to get in front of the man. 

“And I told you to back off.”

Despite Sandor’s superior size and stature, the littler Santa didn’t back down. Sandor could see his cheeks redden beneath the thin, grey fake beard he wore, and noticed his hands clench into fists. 

“You’re a con man!” Sandor accused, with indignation. 

Before he could respond, the man had connected his clenched fist with Sandor’s nose, and while he didn’t budge an inch, Sandor saw red. He lunged and the man, only to have him sprint out of his grasp. Giving chase, Sandor tackled him right into the nativity scene, and picking up the first thing he laid his hands on, Sandor hit the other man with it.

Very quickly, before Sandor could do any real damage, a police squad car came to a screaming halt, the flashing blue lights illuminating the entire square. Sandor looked up, blinked, and dropped the baby Jesus to the snow covered floor.

***

With a confidence she didn’t know she possessed, Sansa sat in the foyer of the police station. For the third time this week. Sansa frowned. This time it was to collect Sandor Clegane. He’d seemed so...well. Normal wasn’t the word, but he’d seemed nice, and he was popular with kid’s parents - or their mothers, at least - and he always bought so much money back. 

Sansa sighed. She desperately hoped there had been some kind of understanding but from the police report that had been emailed to her earlier, it didn’t seem like it.

“Sandor Clegane.” A bored looking uniformed officer announced, before opening a door.

Sandor stepped through, his large body almost too big for the door frame, and Sansa stood.

“Sansa?” He questioned. 

She gave a small smile, nowhere near as bright as the usual one she offered him, and Sandor felt something in his stomach sink.

She indicated for him to follow her, and turned quickly on her heel to exit the police station. 

“Youre not the first volunteer to go off the rails,” she started, as he joined her outside. She was leaning with her back against the brick building, her thin beige rain Mac far too light for the snowy weather.

“But lucky for you the children’s home has an excellent reputation so you won’t be having charges pressed.” She flashed him a too bright smile. “You can turn in your suit when you’ve cleaned up a bit.”

Sansa turned to leave while Sandor stood staring at the stop she had been standing in.

“Wait a second! you’re sacking me?” Finally he pulled himself together enough to speak.

Sansa stopped and gave him a questioning look. “You’ve just been arrested, on company time, while representing the company, because you hit another Santa with a baby Jesus statue.” 

“Look, that guy was a con man. He was trying to take money from people.”

“Then you should have handled it the adult way, and phoned the police.”

“I just don’t like it when people mis represent the suit.”

Sansa felt a slight warmth spread across her tummy at that, but she remained strong. It was company policy. No arrests. No alcohol, either. 

“I had higher hopes for you, Sandor Clegane.” She smiled sadly towards him. “Happy holidays Mr Clegane. Consider your freedom your gift from me.”

“Hang on a second. Hang on!” He chased after her now, although he didn’t know why. For the past three days he’s been day dreaming about getting sacked from this stupid volunteer role. He reached out to place a hand on her arm.

“Mr Clegane. Even if I do overlook the fact that you’ve just been arrested, I can smell the alcohol on your breath.”

Sansa has another sad smile for the look of guilt that quickly flashes across his features. 

“Ah, I can explain that.” She raises her eyebrows, waiting for him to go on. “I...I get cold. I drink to keep warm.”

Sansa is torn. It is freezing cold, and he does stand outside all day. 

“Why do you care so much?”

“Why do I care? Why do I care?” Sandor plays for time. He’s not sure of the answer himself, other than not wanting to fuck the heist up. But it’s more than that, and he has an awful feeling it has to do with her. “The world is a shit hole, but when I put this suit on...it means something.”

Sansa feels her stomach turn to liquid and she smiles, that big, beaming smile she normally has, Sandor is pleased to note. 

“Ok, Mr Clegane. I’ll give you one more shot. On one condition.”

Sandor’s mouth is dry. “What’s that?”

“You help me with the set design for the Christmas Eve show. There’s a lot of work to do and a lot of it is really heavy.”

Sandor nods. 

“And please remember, when you are out on the streets you’re representing the Children’s Home.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll make you look fantastic.” It’s Sandor’s turn to give Sansa a beaming smile now.

**Author's Note:**

> It’s maybe a bit late to post a holiday story, but this is all written and ready to go so the next four chapters will be posted daily. 
> 
> Happy holidays, and remember feedback is a Christmas gift ;-)


End file.
